


Practical Application

by tobiyos



Series: Kinktober 2020 [11]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fingerfucking, Frottage, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Massage, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: “I’ve been reading up on some massage tips.” Ryuji glances at his face, sees that Akira is very pointedly looking at his legs, even though his face is going pink. It makes Ryuji a little nervous too, because he doesn’t know that he’s ever seen Akira’s face flush like that, and his hands are still working over his leg. “Can I… can I try them on you? To help with the pain.”
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Series: Kinktober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970752
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	Practical Application

**Author's Note:**

> These have gone from easy as hell to edit to literally pulling teeth. Kinktober why are you so hard (this pun not intended)
> 
> Kintober day 11: Massages

Ryuji doesn’t usually mention when his leg starts acting up.

He hates feeling like a burden, and the pain is already a reminder that he’s a colossal fuckup, so he’s always prepared to wait out the cramping and the strain and push through his day. At least, that’s how things _were_ , when he wasn’t spending most of his afternoons running through the public consciousness. It is, to put it lightly, a little hard on a leg that’s barely used to the walk from a train station to his apartment.

“What is it?” Akira asks, dutifully catching onto Ryuji’s wince as they climb back inside of Mona, and _god_ he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to climbing inside that damn cat.

“’s nothing,” Ryuji says, and winces as he pushes his fingers into his thigh. He has a moment where he thinks about digging his nails in just so the pain will feel more like a stab and less like a painful cloud, but Akira is already looking at him like he’s worried half to death.

“Ryuji,” Akira says, and ugh, he hates this. He knows he’s got weird… _feelings_ for Akira he doesn’t much want to look into, and the worried look in his pretty eyes is just icing on top of his shitstorm of a cake.

“It’s just my leg,” he huffs, and Akira’s eyes narrow a little more. “Nothing I’m not used to. I’m still good to go.”

Akira takes another look at him and then reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror. “Ann. Yusuke. How are you doing back there?”

“Hm?” Ann says, glancing up from where she’d been twirling the end of her tail. “Oh! I’m fine—I mean, I’m a little tired but we should at least clear out this floor, right?”

“I’m in near perfect condition,” Yusuke says, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“You sure?” Akira asks him quietly.

Ryuji throws an arm around his shoulder. “Man, I’d tell you if I needed a break! Come on, let’s haul ass.”

Akira gives him another worried glance but turns his gaze forward anyway.

He doesn’t think much of it after that, save for the text he gets on Sunday.

_Akira: You busy?_

It’s the first thing Ryuji is really seeing since he’s woken up, so he just kind of stares at it clearly, before typing something out about _dude I’m always down to hang out with you_ and then deleting it, and sending a much less incriminating _nah, what’s up?_

Leblanc is as busy as it usually is, which is to say the only other person inside that isn’t Sojiro is some elderly couple nursing what are probably lukewarm mugs of tea.

“Kid’s upstairs,” Sojiro tells him, not looking away from the coffee machine he’s standing over.

Ryuji barks out a quick, “Thanks!” before heading for the stairs into the attic.

“Helloooo?”

Akira is laid out on his back on the couch, and he jumps so hard he drops his phone right onto his face. “Hi,” Akira responds, not moving to take the phone off his face. “Star Forneus?”

Ryuji spends most of the day kicking Akira’s _ass_ at Star Forneus—despite Morgana’s unfaithful retelling of the events—and is just about to tell Akira he’s headed home when pain shoots through his hip on standing. He scrambles for the edge of the chair, but feels sturdy arms wrap around him, Akira catching him just before he falls.

“Woah, you okay?” He asks, and Ryuji catches his arm to get himself back on his feet.

Ryuji nods, face pinched tight. “All good, just moved too fast.”

Akira opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone buzzes, and he looks down at it, hand drifting from Ryuji’s arm back to his phone screen.

“Hey,” he says, eyes still on his phone screen. “How have you been feeling lately? Like… physically.”

Ryuji has a brief thought that Akira can see through his weird crush on him, but shakes it off. “Um, fine? I don’t know.”

Akira’s eyes finally leave his phone to catch on Ryuji’s face. He kind of makes Ryuji feel like a bug under inspection. “We haven’t been pushing you too hard? Or… overworking your leg?”

Ryuji takes one look at the nervous way Akira’s eyes are flitting around and laughs. “Nah, man! It’s not that bad, promise. If it was, I definitely would have told you guys by now.” He winces as his leg moves a little bit, and then reaches down to massage the heel of his hand into his leg.

“Um,” Akira says, and Ryuji starts when he feels Akira’s hand on his, stopping the hard way he’s pushing the heel of his palm into his muscles. Glancing up, he can see Akira is staring at his leg. “…can I?”

Ryuji swallows and does his best to nod without passing out. Akira’s hands are smaller than Ryuji’s, but nimbler, and Ryuji has a sneaking suspicion they’re probably stronger than his, too. He really needs to stop thinking about Akira’s hands.

He pushes Ryuji back into sitting on the couch, and tugs his chair a bit closer, so he can stretch Ryuji’s leg over his lap. “I’ve been…” Akira says quietly, trailing off as he works some of the tenser strain out of his leg. It feels pretty good, all things considered, even when Akira presses down wrong on a bundle of nerves and Ryuji isn’t able to swallow his hiss fast enough. “Sorry,” Akira says, and carefully avoids the spot. He clears his throat. “I’ve been reading up on some, like, massage tips.” Akira glances at his face, sees that Akira is very pointedly looking at his legs, even though his face is going pink. It makes Ryuji a little nervous too, because he doesn’t know that he’s ever seen Akira’s face flush like that, and his hands are still soothing over his leg. “Can I… can I try them on you? To help with the pain.”

“Y-yeah,” Ryuji says, even though his stomach drops at out at idea. He doesn’t want to tell Akira _no, you can’t actually because I’ve had a gigantic crush on you since April,_ but the idea of Akira’s hands on his skin is making his head strangely feverish, and he almost lets himself believe for a moment that Akira is doing it out of some desire to actually _touch_ him, which just makes the squeezing feeling in his chest worse.

“Here,” Akira says, and lays Ryuji out on his couch, face up on the cushions and arms tucked a little stiffly at his side. Ryuji doesn’t really know what he’s doing, so he lets Akira move him as he sees fit, and then jumps when Akira touches his ankle because he was staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Akira’s _hands_ on his _skin_.

He works slowly and methodically, pressing and molding the muscles on Ryuji’s calf and then his thigh, avoiding areas too close to his knee. Despite the oddity of the situation and the way Akira’s hands feel on him, eventually, Ryuji can relax back into the cushions, sighing when Akira presses at his hips with the bend of his thumbs. It feels good, warm and comfortable, and Ryuji wishes he they could have done this earlier if it was going to feel this nice.

“Good?” Akira asks, and switches to Ryuji’s other leg, even though that one isn’t injured.

“Yeah,” Ryuji murmurs, and makes a little comfortable grumbling noise in when Akira presses down on a spot that feels particularly tense. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says easily, and keeps pressing and rolling until Ryuji’s legs feel like jelly. He’s starting to get a sneaking suspicion he might need to ask Akira if he can stay the night, because he doesn’t know how he’s going to walk to the station like this.

Akira continues on, and Ryuji thinks it could be minutes or hours before he finally sets Ryuji’s other leg back down on the couch with a small sigh. “Feel better?”

“Fuck yeah,” Ryuji groans, pushing himself to sit up on his hands. He stretches his arms over his head and genuinely feels like the pain in his leg has gone away for a little while. He smiles. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Akira says coolly, reaching up to slide his glasses up his nose. Ryuji thinks it’s cute, wants to reach out and put the tips of his fingers over where Akira’s are. He so busy caught up in the slide of his glasses that he doesn’t really hear what Akira says until a few seconds after it’s happened.

“What?”

“I asked if you want me to continue. I had to read a bunch of articles to make sure I didn’t hurt you, so I think I can probably do your back too.”

“Oh,” Ryuji says, and lets a smile light up his face. “Hell yeah! That sounds great dude but... are you sure? I don’t know how to do any of this fancy massage stuff back...”

Akira shakes his head and stands up from the extra chair, moving over to sit on his bed. “It’s fine. You know I’m all about learning new stuff.”

Ryuji snorts and moves over to lay stomach first on Akira’s bed, turning his face up with a smile. “You don’t have to remind me, Mr. three-thousand-hobbies. What are you working on now? Still batting?”

Akira presses down lightly on Ryuji’s shoulders, before he moves, and there’s a very distinct weight on the back of Ryuji’s thighs. “I’m learning how to play Gun About, actually.”

“How’s that coming?” Ryuji asks, and makes a small noise when Akira pressing his thumbs into his shoulders.

“Depends on if you consider getting my ass kicked by some grade school kid ‘good.’”

Ryuji snorts again, melts into the earthy smell of Akira’s sheets at the next pass of his hands over Ryuji’s shoulder blades. “Hm… I wonder if the kid would be interested in leading the Phantom Thieves.”

“Shut up,” Akira laughs.

He works quietly, but there’s a new kind of strangeness to it now that Ryuji can’t see his face. He’s heavy on the back of Ryuji’s thighs, legs pulled up underneath him, but it’s almost unnoticeable with the easy push and pull of his hands.

He jumps when Akira’s hands press at his hips and then slide up his shirt, the tips of his fingers leaving trails like fire over his skin. Ryuji makes a startled noise he covers with his arm, smooshing his nose into the crook of his elbow.

“This okay?” Akira asks gently, and Ryuji _will not_ focus too hard on the smooth rumble of his voice, no matter how much his stupid horny brain decides that he absolutely should.

“It’s fine,” he says, and winces at the little crack in his voice.

“Okay,” Akira says, and bare fingers are working in slow circles on the curve of his back. “Tell me to stop if you need.”

“Yessir,” Ryuji mumbles into his skin, and stifles another little noise of pleasure into his arm when Akira presses down on a tight bundle of nerves. His heart rate is starting to pick up, the familiarity of Akira’s gestures melting into the heat of his hands now that it’s his skin against Ryuji’s. He’s lucky he’s pressed down into Akira’s bed instead of on his back like before, because he’s pretty sure the effect it’s having on his dick is a little embarrassing.

Akira works back up to his shoulder and then drags his hands down Ryuji’s heated skin, thumbs pressing in just right, and Akira feels his body go stiff a bit as he stutters out, “Oh, f-fuck.”

“Good?” Akira asks lowly, and the tone of his voice goes straight to Ryuji’s cock, makes him wish he could see Akira’s face right now, if only because the lack of visual is just making him _imagine_.

“Mhm,” Ryuji says a little evasively, not sure if he really trusts his voice.

“Tell me to stop,” Akira says, and his hands move lower, press just at the start of the swell of his ass, fingers pushing into the dimples low on Ryuji’s back.

“’m not,” Ryuji murmurs, because his head is still a little foggy from how sleepy the massage made him feel earlier, but even with the heat under his skin, he doesn’t think he’d pass up an oprotunity like _this_ , not ever.

“Okay,” Akira says, and it’s a little calming how his voice doesn’t even shake, even when he molds his fingers into Ryuji’s ass and squeezes, working like he’s still just massaging. It feels good, loosens his muscles even more until he’s groaning, sinking lower into the bed as Akira works incredibly deft fingers into the plush muscle of his backside. It’s not even particularly sexual, just an extension of the massage Akira was giving him earlier, but Ryuji can’t help the noise he makes when Akira presses in hard, and he shifts his hips just barely on the bed, realizes his dick is hard.

“That feel good?” Akira asks.

“ _Mph_ , don’t… don’t make me— _Akira_.” His voice is wrecked already, and Akira’s hands slide back under his shirt. He’s so _sensitive_ , unnecessarily so, and Akira’s hands on his skin feel like sparks everywhere he touches, even as he pushes a thumb into the curve of Ryuji’s ass.

“Yeah?” Akira says, and Ryuji feels the barely there drag of his nails across his skin and it’s like lightning. Ryuji grinds his cock into Akira’s mattress and whines because he can’t help it, even when Akira’s hands drop away. “Shit, Ryuji.”

“Sorry,” Ryuji pants, and tries to control himself for fuck’s sake. Getting hard from your best friend giving you a _very_ helpful massage is one thing and trying to rut against his bed is another. “Sorry, I’m—”

He’s cut off when Akira’s weight shifts, and there’s a hand weighing down the mattress by Ryuji’s head, a very light kiss pressed just at the base of his neck. “It’s okay, just… you can tell me not to. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me,” Ryuji breathes into the mattress, because it’s true, isn’t it? He trusts Akira with his life every day, and he’s in love with him he’s pretty sure, and if Akira wants to do… whatever to him, he wants it. He wants all of it. “I’ll take whatever you give me,” he says, at the same time Akira drops another feather light kiss to the back of his neck.

“I love you,” Akira breathes onto the back of his neck, and Ryuji barely has any time to process before Akira’s palms slides warm down his back and hooks his shorts underneath his ass. Ryuji’s reply gets caught in the way Akira spreads him apart, a warm finger dipping down to press gently at his hole.

Ryuji shudders, and Akira presses another hot open-mouthed kiss to the back of his neck. Akira doesn’t press inside, just keeps circling Ryuji’s entrance gently, and the touch tickles in a strange way and makes Ryuji want to arch back for more. “Hold on,” Akira says quietly into Ryuji’s ear, before he presses a kiss into the side of his neck and most of his weight pulls away for a moment, the heat of his chest leaving Ryuji’s back.

Ryuji takes the reprieve to breathe, to bury his fingers in the dark blankets of Akira’s bed and try to clear the jumbled foggy thoughts in his brain. He doesn’t even get the chance, before Akira’s weight is back, and there’s a finger at his ass again, cool to the touch and slick.

“Akira,” Ryuji sighs, and he takes a long stuttering breath when Akira’s finger pushes inside, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe across the back of Ryuji’s neck. “Fuck, that’s—”

“Relax,” Akira murmurs, and Ryuji lets his body melt into the blankets again, lets Akira fuck his finger in and out of him slowly. It burns but Ryuji feels like it’s giving him an itch he can’t scratch, his body aching for more. Akira’s hips knock up against his ass on one thrust, and Ryuji’s erection drags against Akira’s bed through his clothes, and he can’t help the noise he makes, halfway between a shout and a groan.

“You’re so beautiful,” Akira says against his skin, and the praise is undercut by Akira pushing his finger in harder, the brush of his knuckles against the sensitive skin of his ass. “You take it so well.”

“Akira, _please_ ,” Ryuji whines, and he doesn’t really know what he’s asking for, just knows he doesn’t quite get it even when Akira fucks him with a finger faster. “M-more,” he gasps, knees digging into Akira’s bed so he can push up and back, fuck himself better on Akira’s finger. “Gimmie more.”

“Okay,” Akira says, and kisses the back of his neck again, slides his fingers back so he can fit one more inside of Ryuji.

“Fuck,” Ryuji groans, long and drawn out into his arms. “You’re, _ngh_ , you’re not going fa-fast enough, Akira. Ah, _ah_ , Akira.” Akira’s fingers inside of him crawl to a stop, and Ryuji nearly sobs into his arms, wants it faster and _now_.

Akira scissors his fingers gently, pulling Ryuji’s hole apart, and his thumb strokes soothingly at the place where his thigh meets the round flesh of his ass. “Like this?” Akira asks, and prods around slowly. Ryuji moans at each pass of his fingers, the heat in his stomach that was building slowing to a gentle simmer that’s just as intense, and he grinds down against Akira’s sheets again. “Or… this?” there’s a brief moment, long enough for Ryuji to take a shaky breath before Akira’s fingers brush against something inside of him that makes Ryuji shout and press his toes hard into the mattress.

“Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” Ryuji sobs, because that was the closest, he’s ever come to coming without actually doing it, and his limbs are starting to shake everywhere he’s pressed to Akira. Akira does it again, dragging slowly towards that same spot, and Ryuji’s whole body feels tight, like he’s on a string, so he pulls his hips off of the bed so he won’t come in literal _seconds._ “Akira, ah, ah, _fuck, Akira!_ ” he gasps, and his hips meet Akira’s, pressing against the hard line of Akira’s cock in his lose pants. Akira just fucks him with his fingers harder, and Ryuji pants, hips jerking like he wants to press against the bed again. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come, Akira, _fuck_ , p-please, ngh, _please, fuck!_ ”

Akira presses inside of him _hard_ , and grinds his hips against Ryuji’s ass into the sheets and Ryuji’s body tenses and shakes, his whole boy feeling like it’s coming lose, his orgasm ripping through him like he’s been shot. Akira holds him down with his weight as he shakes through it, hands gripping and releasing the sheets as he moans, voice catching on Akira’s name.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Akira murmurs against his ear, and Ryuji cries his name, voice catching strangely on the breath he can’t quite get.

It feels like it lasts for fucking forever, but eventually Ryuji’s body winds down, his breathing evening into something more manageable even if he’s panting the way he used to after a race, and Akira’s fingers are out of his ass, just stroking comfortingly at his skin, slightly wet with sweat.

“Are you okay?” Akira asks gently, and his face is at Ryuji’s side, just where he can see him if he turns.

“Yeah,” Ryuji croaks. His voice is scratchy, like he’s yelled himself horse. “Good… ‘m good. Holy shit.”

He shifts a little further forward to bump his nose against Akira’s, and notices that he’s taken his glasses off a fraction of a second before he kisses him. Ryuji does his best to kiss back, doesn’t let the novelty of Akira Kurusu’s mouth on his go even if he’s exhausted almost out of his mind and Akira’s hands are still stroking on his skin.

It’s shaky, but he manages to get an arm up to push Akira onto his back on the bed, and Ryuji sits up on his side to trail a hand down Akira’s chest towards the waistline of his pants. He works his hand over Akira’s cock short and sweet, peppers kisses to the corner of his mouth and works a hand over his erection until Akira is gasping his name and coming across Akira’s knuckles, head thrown back and pretty pale neck flushed down to his chest. Ryuji can’t keep his eyes off of him, and when he’s coming down, can’t keep his mouth off of him either, kissing Akira lazily as he holds Ryuji by the edge of his neck.

“You said you love me,” Ryuji says, after a moment.

Akira’s eyes are hazy, trained on his mouth as his thumb works in low circles on his collarbone. “I did. Does that… is that okay?”

Ryuji laughs, because he absolutely can’t help it, and then he laughs harder, and kisses Akira for the trouble, pushing him back onto his back. “I know you ain’t stupid.”

“I wanna hear you say it,” Akira says, and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, and then the tip of his nose, underneath his eye, over his eyebrow.

“I love you,” Ryuji says, and catches his hand, lets him kiss his neck gently. “I love you. I love you.”

Akira laughs into his skin, and his free hand traces a lazy circles on the place on Ryuji’s hip where his pants are hanging low. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes on Ryuji’s neck, and Ryuji threads his fingers in his dark curls, kisses him right on the crown of his head.

“I wouldn’t. I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing updates and bitching about editing on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos) and complaining about how there are only so many nice way to describe dicks on my [NSFW Twitter.](https://twitter.com/h0ney_bunns) Come say hi!!


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